The Fallout
by scripting life
Summary: *Part 2 up* Dealing with the aftermath is the hardest part. Spoilers for "47 Seconds" and promo for "The Limey." Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: First of all, who else can totally not wait until next week? Man, these next couple of weeks until the finale is going to wreak havoc on my insides.

Anyhow, yes, this is another response to "47 Seconds." I think I took a different spin than what I've seen so far though, so... Please read the author's note at the bottom of this because I think some explanation is necessary to understand why I took this particular route.

In any case, thanks for all your support for my fics thus far, and I hope you all enjoy this one!

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><p>Spoilers: "47 Seconds" (4x19) and the promo for "The Limey" (4x20)<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: No, I don't own Castle. You may thank Andrew Marlowe and his crazy team for throwing all these wrenches in the development of Caskett.<p>

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><p><strong><em>THE FALLOUT<em>**

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><p>"You heard me," she says and the moment the words fall from her lips, everything about the past week suddenly makes the awful kind of sense.<p>

The way he's been dodging her calls, the thinly veiled jabs at keeping secrets, the getting away from the precinct (and her) as fast as he could once a case is closed, the fact that the only reason they're having this conversation at all is because she finally managed to corner him in his loft...It all points to this one unequivocal truth. He'd heard her in the interrogation room accidentally spill her secret.

All along, she'd always thought that when she told him the truth (there was never doubt in her mind that she eventually would), she'd be ashamed and contrite and willing to do anything to rectify the wrong and to find a way to push forward through it because if she and Castle had managed to get to the point where she confesses to him her lie, their relationship would be worth all the work she needed to pour into it to make it work.

In reality however, she's just angry.

Oh, she feels dashes of all that other stuff that used to twist her insides in pretzels in the dark of the night when she's agonizing over how to tell him and how he'd react, but it's mostly overwhelmed by the sense of indignant righteousness.

(She pushes down the hurt, refuses to let it rise until later because angry as she is, she is also so, so disappointed. In him, yes, but more in the knowledge that maybe they won't work out after all.)

"You are such a hypocrite, Castle," she bites out.

His eyebrows fly to his hairline and he gestures at himself incredulously. "_I'm _such a hypocrite?"

"Yes, you. And apparently Sophia Turner had it right when she called you an immature, self-centered jackass."

He jerks away from the kitchen island he'd been leaning against and takes a step towards her. "Oh and who was the one who didn't think it was important enough to tell me the truth?"

"I'm sorry I lied, and I'm sorry I hurt you," she conceded, trying to inject as much genuine contrition as she can because it's true. She is sorry. Sorry that the truth came out this way, sorry that she caused him so much pain. She was wrong, but now so is he. The reminder fills her with a fresh flood of indignation. "You have a right to be angry, but you _don't _have the right to be angry and then do the same thing to me that you're so pissed at me for."

"What are you talking about?"

"You heard me in the interrogation room. You know that I remember everything, and what do you do? Do you come talk to me about it? Oh no, you do the exact same thing I did and pretend you didn't hear it all the while throwing these stupid, pointed jabs at me. All week, Castle. All week I've been trying to figure out what I did that has you so mad at me, but every time I try to ask you what's wrong, you brush me off. At least I did it in part to protect the possibility of us. You? You seem like you just want to punish me."

He flinches and she wishes she could find satisfaction in the way his face pales, but all she feels is sick to the stomach. Sick because this wasn't how it was supposed to go at all.

"I'm not trying to punish you." And then his eyes flash brilliant blue, and she thinks that maybe he's drawing from the same well of self-righteous indignation as she is because he suddenly goes on the offensive. "And don't you dare use the I-was-trying-to-protect-you as an excuse. You were only trying to protect yourself, and who cares if you happen to trample all over me and _my_ feelings in the process. How many months has it been, Kate? How many more months were you going to make play the fool?"

"I never made you do anything, Castle, and I wasn't playing you for a fool. I needed time. Time to get my head on straight so that we could-" she cuts herself off, not willing to concede this to him. "You want to talk about being played for a fool? How about what you keep doing to me?"

She doesn't give him a chance to answer, and she realizes that this poison has been building up inside her for so long that she can't stem the flow of destructive words, even if she tried. She'd really thought she'd gotten over the heartache from that summer two years ago, from the humiliation of finally being ready to tell him that she was really kind of crazy about him only to be completely shown up by his ex-wife, but apparently the pain had been festering deep inside all along.

"You do this. Every. Single. Time. You spend all this time trying to convince me that you're for real, make me think that maybe we could really work, but whenever an obstacle comes up, you give up. You freaking give up, Castle! You did the same goddamn thing two summers ago, and you're doing it again now. And you wonder why I'm hesitant to go into anything with you."

"What are you talking about? You were the one who chose Demming. Remember, apple carts and how I'm the unreliable kind?"

"Oh and you've done a hell of a job proving otherwise, haven't you?"

"How am I unreliable? I've been by your side like an idiot for the past six months and even before that, ready to do anything you needed," he shoots back, and this is the first time Kate has ever really seen him try to intimidate her.

She refuses to back down, can't back down because these things all needed to come out and somehow she's not worried about the repercussions anymore. (Part of her has already given up too.)

"Anything _you_ thought I needed," she corrects. "You want to talk about Demming? Fine. Have you never thought to wonder what happened? Why we broke up? _When_ we broke up?"

He's clearly a little thrown by how she's finally directly talking about one of those issues-that-they-never-talk-about. "Of course I wondered. I just didn't think it was something you wanted to talk about."

"Bullshit, Rick. You were afraid that I was going to reject you, so you took the coward's way out and rejected me first. You didn't stick around to fight for me when the truth is there wouldn't have even a goddamn fight because I broke up with Tom right before I watched you gallivanting off to the Hamptons with your ex-wife! _You_ broke us, Rick, before there was even an 'us' to break. And now—" she pauses in an attempt to regain her composure, afraid to speak because her voice is so close to cracking just now, "—and now you're doing the same damn thing, showing off with some blonde socialite on your arm while you zip around in your Ferrari. Are you sure you're not trying to punish me? Because it sure as hell feels like it."

The silence that descends between them is deafening.

They stare at each other for the longest time, both of them frozen in this horrible tableau playing out in the kitchen of Castle's loft. She wishes that either Martha or Alexis were home and they could wander in with impeccable timing to break this interminable silence, but no such luck.

Their problem, she's just beginning to comprehend, is that they hold far too much inside, thinking that they'll work through things on their own, not realizing that by not talking, they've turned a difficult but manageable situation into a wall of epic proportions. She doesn't know if either of them is equipped to scale this particular barrier between them.

She wonders briefly about what he's thinking, but decides on second thought that she doesn't want to know. She has enough trouble with her own thoughts that she can't accommodate his as well.

He's the first to break the tenuous silence between them.

"You're right. I wish I could say that I'm bigger than this, but I guess a part of me really did want to punish you for hurting me. I didn't know about Demming, but that just proves your point, doesn't it? That I didn't stick around long enough to fight for you? I thought... I told myself I was being the bigger man, but I guess the truth is that I didn't think I even had a chance and so I gave up. But Kate, you have got to give me something here."

"What do you think I've been doing these past months? I'm trying, Castle, I really am. But it doesn't help when I make these strides and then you suddenly step back like this."

"So you're saying this is all my fault?"

"No, I'm saying-" _I'm saying just because I didn't say those three words back, it doesn't mean I don't feel it. It doesn't mean I wasn't trying to be better. _"I'm saying that I needed you to stand firm for me. And you didn't."

She holds her gaze steady, but she doesn't know what he sees in her eyes because she can't untangle this mess of emotions threatening to pull her under. She feels the threads of whatever tapestry they've weaved for their future unraveling in her fingers, and everything that seemed so possible just last week when she was contemplating how she doesn't want to put it off anymore suddenly feels impossible.

Whatever anger and resentment they tossed at each other like rounds in a shotgun have dispersed by now, and all that's left is uncertainty. Somehow, the uncertainty is worse.

He clears his throat and the sound is loud, too loud.

"Beckett…Kate, I haven't…I haven't been with her. Or anyone else this week, for that matter."

Kate closes her eyes and shakes her head. Was this supposed to be his version of offering up amends for breaking this fragile trust between even more than her own lie already had?

"It doesn't matter, Castle."

"Yes it does."

"No, it doesn't because you tried, didn't you?"

His slight hesitation speaks louder than his words. "Maybe, but I couldn't. She wasn't you."

She rubs her temple with her thumb and sighs. "Is that supposed to make it better? Castle, you gave up on me without even giving me a reason why. I asked you to wait, and you did, but only until we hit the first bump in…whatever the hell this is. If ever you've given me a reason to not dive in, this is it."

His eyes are desolate, the lines in his face deeper than ever with the force of his agony. "Kate, don't…don't give up. Please, don't."

"You don't get it, do you, Castle? I'm not the one who gave up on this. You are."

"I promise you I won't give up again."

"You can't make that promise. Not when you just did it. Things come too easy for you, Castle. And maybe things come too hard for me."

Neither of them voices it (haven't they learned their lesson by now), but they both hear the loud, _What happens now?_ floating in the empty spaces between them. For the first time in a long time, the answer sounds like a hopeless one.

Suddenly she just feels bone-deep weary. She thinks she should at least be upset that he tried to sleep with someone else to rid her completely from his personal life and his heart, but she must have used up all her anger already. And really, what did she have to be angry about? For all that they were basically already together, neither of them had any true obligation to the other to stay single. Besides, the cold reality is that she was the one who lied first.

"The truth is we're both selfish, aren't we, Castle? Maybe…maybe it's time to admit that we aren't the best people for each other."

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><p>AN: First of all, there is a second part coming.

Second, a bit of an explanation is warranted here, I think. When I saw the promo for "The Limey" and even towards the end of "47 Seconds," a recurring thought of mine was that Castle was handling this all very immaturely. I get that he was understandably hurt and upset, but I hate it when people take the passive-aggressive route. It annoyed me that he would throw those veiled barbs at Beckett, and yet refuse to confront her about her lie. At the same time, I realized that Castle's reaction was completely in character, even if it wasn't how I wanted him to react. Explanation? As much as Castle usually just goes after what he wants and says what he thinks with very little filtering, the truth is that he is a master of avoidance. You see this with his relationship with Gina (avoiding her phone calls during their spat), and you even see this in how he handled the situation with Demming (he ducks out by dating his ex-wife again). In his own way, he's just as emotionally stunted as Beckett. I mean, two failed marriages is going to take a toll on a guy, and while there was an obvious reason for the end with Meredith, I get the impression that it wasn't so clear cut with Gina. And I think it's harder to have a relationship fail for no apparent reason because you don't really have a clear picture of _why_ it went bad. And somewhere along the way, Castle developed this instinct to avoid confrontation. And this is why I have Beckett calling him out because for all her issues, I think that she's actually the one who's more willing to confront someone when they're doing something stupid.

So yeah. There's my two cents. Stay tuned for part two coming to a computer screen near you. :)


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Wow. I think this is the most controversial story I've ever written in terms of the fact that I've gotten a mixed bag of reviews. Some of you loved it, some of you not so much, but the common denominator in all that is I am so very thankful for your feedback. Even the negative ones (or especially the negative ones because how else am I supposed to improve?). _

_There's a terribly long author's note at the end that I think addresses some of the points people made, so if you're so inclined, have a look. Otherwise, I hope you all enjoy this second part!_

_Thanks for reading!_

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><p>He's sitting against the wall next to her door when she leaves for the precinct the next morning. His eyes are bloodshot and his hair a mess and he looks plain miserable.<p>

That's fair, she thinks, because she was pretty miserable last night too.

After she'd dropped her bomb (how is it possible that they could have a "maybe we should see other people" line when they weren't even seeing each other?), her wish for a distraction was granted when Alexis came in through the front door, the fall of tumblers clicking into place loud in the tense bubble of nothing that enveloped them.

Alexis had taken one look at the situation, took in Castle's despondency, and immediately shot Kate a dirty glare. It probably didn't help that Kate was far more practiced at hiding her emotions that Castle was, so it appeared like the despair was all one-sided. Her wailing heart protested otherwise, but neither of the Castles needed to know that.

Still, Kate knew that she deserved Alexis' ire, but it wasn't like it really mattered anymore. She and Castle were done.

No, she reprimanded herself. It still mattered to her that Alexis now thinks her to be the worst person in the world. It mattered because Alexis is an amazing person in her own right, and Kate wishes there wasn't this gigantic Castle-sized problem between them.

"I should go," Kate managed to get out through the lump in her throat and the cotton clogging her mouth.

And so she had left. Left with things that had been said that shouldn't have been said and things unsaid that should have been said.

Which brought her back to her apartment and the personal purgatory that had plagued her all night. Sleep was impossible, and she'd spent most of the night second-guessing herself. "Maybe" was quickly becoming her least favorite word.

Maybe she'd been too defensive.

Maybe she'd been too harsh.

Maybe she'd piled mistakes on him that weren't really his fault.

Maybe she shouldn't have stopped them before they had a chance to become anything.

Maybe she'd been wrong.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

(She hasn't decided yet whether "maybe" or "if only" is worse.)

"Hey," she says quietly, and that one word with three little letters says more than the most eloquent of speeches. She's just not sure what message it conveys yet.

He glances up at her, startled it seems to see her, and then averts his eyes. The way his gaze darts all over the place makes him look a little wild, almost like a feral animal that's been cornered. Her heart aches that she did this to him.

(Maybe she wasn't understanding enough. Maybe she's just not cut out for this relationship thing.)

He doesn't move, and she recognizes that if she wants to salvage any kind of relationship with him (even if she's screwed up the possibility of the kind she wanted, she realizes that she needs him to be her friend, to be her partner more than all of that), she has to take the first step this time. He already made it easy for her by showing up at her doorstep.

She shuts her door and slides down next to him.

She takes a deep breath and says what she should have said from the beginning instead of fighting his cold shoulder with angry fire.

"I'm sorry."

He jerks a little bit in surprise, and she wonders how they've—she's—screwed up so badly that he's surprised to hear her apologize for something that was mostly her fault.

"I'm sorry I lied to you. I know I said it yesterday, but I don't think I really meant it then. I think…I was too upset to really mean it. I do mean it now though. I know there's nothing I can say to excuse it, to make up for the fact that I was the one who was afraid. But you were right. I was more concerned about my own issues than I was for your feelings, and I am really, truly sorry."

He doesn't say a word and her heart constricts. (Maybe she's pushed too far. Maybe she's broken them for good, or worse, maybe she's broken him.)

She watches the way her fingers curl into the fabric of her slacks, and though she's getting no encouragement from him, no acknowledgment that he heard her at all, at least he's still here. That's something, isn't it?

Her fingers clench tighter into her pants and she feels the faint bite of her dull fingernails against her leg. "I'm sorry that I tried to justify myself by making it sound like it was your fault that I lied. I was upset and frustrated and hurt that you kept blowing me off. But...you said once that you don't begrudge me of my coping mechanisms. I'm sorry that I didn't take yours into consideration."

He still doesn't say anything, and her apologies sound so insufficient, even to her own ears.

So they just sit there in the hall of her apartment building. She knows that her neighbors keep casting them odd glances when they leave for work, but she can't bring herself to care.

She broke something yesterday, and she doesn't know if it can be fixed.

Because he wasn't the only one to give up when the going got hard. She did too. And maybe her sin is worse because she knew exactly what she was doing and she still did it.

She doesn't know how long they sit there unmoving and unspeaking, and she's honestly a little surprised that no one has called her in to the precinct yet. She wishes she had the foresight to turn her phone on silent, not wanting anything to break this fragile opportunity to mend fences. She's still trying to figure out how to surreptitiously fish out her phone without calling attention to her movement when he finally breaks the silence.

"I've been thinking." His voice rasps, like he spent a long time drinking or crying or both. It makes her heart clench in the most painful of ways.

"A dangerous pastime," she eventually replies.

He smiles faintly at the reference and it does her good to see his lips turn up in a movement she's more accustomed to seeing on his face. But then he speaks again and she almost wishes that bullet had finished her off.

"I keep thinking maybe I'm really just a closet masochist."

"What?" she chokes out.

"I mean, I know I'll just get hurt, but I keep coming back anyway. Or maybe I'm just insane. That's the definition, right? Repetition of the same action and expecting a different result? I keep banging my head against this wall, and I tell myself that's enough, to stop it before I do permanent damage, but suddenly I find myself right back where I was. And I realize that the damage was done a long time ago."

"Castle…"

"What am I doing here, Kate? I mean really, what the _hell_ am I doing here? You lied to me about not remembering. You've already told me you think that we're all wrong for each other. So why am I here?"

She swallows, but it's made harder by the thick lump in her throat. "I don't know."

He nods, as if in satisfaction. "See? Insane or masochistic."

He runs a hand down his face. He's so worn and tired and faded out. A shadow of himself, and she wonders if this was a sudden thing, or if she's only just now starting to see how much her problems have been wearing down on his resolve this whole time.

(Maybe she's poison for him. Maybe she will drown him.)

"Alexis thinks you're too dark for me. Mother says you're too hard for me."

She feels the wetness drip on her hand before she notices the tears on her face. She's crying. She lifts a hand to her cheek in wonder.

But really, why should she be surprised? She'd always known that the Castles operate as a family unit, that to hurt one was to hurt all. But in the years she's known them, she's come to rely on their silent support, their subtle strength. She never would have thought that the loss of that bastion would hit her this hard.

She doesn't know how, but she manages to squeeze out the most important question of all. "And you?"

"I'm pretty sure that you're not the best person for me."

A strangled moan breaks free from the depths of her soul despite her best efforts. She knows she has no right to be upset. She's the one who said it in the first place. But it still hurts, hurts that he would agree.

"You're not the best person for me," he repeats and she wonders for a moment if it's a record that will keep replaying itself over and over again in her head. "You're not, but the thing is, you're the _only_ one."

The world stops for just a beat.

For the longest moment, all she can hear is the blood rushing in her ears. Her lungs burn and she realizes that she's been holding her breath.

She lets out her breath and the dam's been broken.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she babbles through her tears and when she launches herself on him, she prays to God he'll catch her because her vision is blurred to see.

He does, and her heart breaks just a little more.

He hasn't given up after all.

He needed time to cope, and even though she didn't give it to him, he hasn't given up.

His grip around her tightens and somewhere between her knocking him to the floor and their limbs tangling awkwardly, their mutual "I'm sorry's" (_I'm sorry I lied, I'm sorry I was such an immature jackass) _turn into "I love you's."

She doesn't know who said it first, but she realizes that it doesn't matter. Maybe it's never mattered because this feels so _natural_, like they've been fighting the universe this whole time and now they're finally in sync, with the world and with each other.

(Maybe they'll make it. Maybe all they needed was to clear the air. Maybe they will be okay.

She thinks that "maybe's" aren't all bad as long as they don't lead to "if only.")

They stay like that, the length of their bodies pressed together and arms wrapped tightly around each other like they're afraid the other might just disappear, until her tears—and his—are dry. She doesn't really want to move because for this one instant, nothing in the world can touch them.

But then the phone that had left them in blessed peace for their whole soul-bearing conversation abruptly makes itself known with a shrill ring that shatters their reverie. (And really, only they would have a _moment_ on the hallway floor of her apartment building.)

She wipes her nose and thinks that under other circumstances, she'd be embarrassed by the line of snot that comes off on her sleeve, but she just doesn't care right now. She sits up next to Castle's prone body and fishes her phone out of her pocket.

"Beckett."

"You're giving Gates a hernia. When are you coming in or do Ryan and I have to come save your ass again?" Esposito rattles out without preamble.

Part of her wants to laugh in relief that the world is still spinning, that nothing and everything has changed, that they're really is going to be okay.

"I'll be there in twenty."

She ends the call, eyes never leaving Castle as he sits up next to her. His hand comes up to play with the lapel of her blazer and her breath stutters at the wicked heat that she suddenly notices blazing from him.

"Did all that really just happen? Or am I drunk?" he asks and even though his tone is teasing, there's a very real fear in his eyes that this is all just a figment of his imagination.

"Not drunk, Castle. At least I'm not." She smiles gently and lets her hand do what it had wanted to all those weeks ago when she'd found him in the bank vault, safe and mostly sound. She sweeps the hair off his forehead and traces the line of his cheek. "A wise man once told me that the secret to the success in his marriage was to keep showing up. I know there's still a lot we need to talk about, but I think...I think I'm ready to commit to that. Are you?"

His hand comes up to cover hers on his cheek. "I am. You know I am. It's just…"

"What?"

The lines between his brows deepen as he frowns. "No more secrets," he says, but it sounds like it's directed more to himself than toward her.

"No more secrets," she agrees and is slightly confused when his expression doesn't clear. "Castle…"

"Come over tonight. After work. I…have something to show you."

She studies him, sees him trying to suppress some sort of panic and it makes the beast in her chest want to crawl out and roar, _he can't be trusted_ and _I told you so, _but those four words belong to her mother, and her mother always said that the truth can never hurt you. She refuses to let the truth hurt her.

"Okay," she says simply, and it's some strange combination of relief and fear that crosses his face in response.

"Okay."

His expression is still too pensive for her liking though so she leans in and presses a soft kiss to his lips. It's comfort and reassurance all in one. No more giving up for either of them. They press on, no matter what.

"We'll be okay, Castle."

"You sure?"

"Always."

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><p><em>AN: Yes, that's all I have planned for this story. This was strictly meant to be a reaction fic, not a full-blown how-are-they-going-to-resolve-all-the-problems-in-their-relationship fic, so I have no plans for continuing. I'm sorry I left the issue of Castle's secret hanging there, but the point wasn't his secret. It was really more about their reactions._

_That being said, this second part gave me trouble because while Kate was second-guessing herself, so was I (thanks in no small part to a number of reviews I received that made me reevaluate what I had done with the characters). I mean, when I first started writing this last night right after the episode aired, I was so certain that I wanted to take a particular angle. It surprised me that I was more angry for Beckett than I was empathetic with Castle and I think this is large part was due to the way Castle handled the situation. I wanted to reflect that confusion from Kate's point of view because she really has no idea what happened by that point. All she sees is Castle suddenly backing off when they'd basically made an appointment to talk about them after the case, and then in the promo, Castle is seemingly back to his womanizing ways. __When I mentioned Castle's immaturity, I was mostly referring to the promo for "The Limey" and the whole passive-aggressive thing he was running, especially in the interrogation room. I thought it was commendable that he put aside his personal feelings to solve the case and I understand his need to get out of Beckett's presence. But like kat6919 mentioned in her review, the return of playboy!Castle was so not doing it for me. __Honestly, I really just wanted to rip into Castle for that, and I think my personal opinion was strongly reflected in the first part._

_However, as I worked on the second part throughout today, I realized that I'd written myself into a hole. I originally wanted Castle to be the one to apologize first, but then the problem was that he really wasn't the one who should have to put himself out there again. Yes, he handled the situation terribly, but that didn't mean that the pain and betrayal he felt was any less. So, I had to somehow go from tearing Castle to shreds to making it believable that Beckett had an almost 180-degree turnabout in opinion overnight. I'm not sure if I succeeded in that, and you all can tell me how successfully I managed to do that._

_In any case, I usually don't write such horrifically long author's notes (especially for a short two-shot deal), but with all the strong opinions I came across in the reviews __(which was super cool to read because it gave me a lot of insight in Castle and Beckett that I might not have necessarily saw)__, I felt like this would be a good place to explain myself. Sorry for the rambling, and I hope you still managed to have a good time with this fic. _

_Cheers!_


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